


breaking point

by architecture_in_f1ll0ry



Series: breaking point [1]
Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: F/F, and she's in a tux, ex-girlfriend asami, my apologies and you're welcome, smug kuvira, thirsty korra, yeah they get nasty in a bathroom in this one and that's kind of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:09:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24912871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/architecture_in_f1ll0ry/pseuds/architecture_in_f1ll0ry
Summary: Korra and Kuvira have been dancing around this for way too long.
Relationships: Korra/Kuvira (Avatar), Mako/Prince Wu (Avatar)
Series: breaking point [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1815853
Comments: 22
Kudos: 188





	breaking point

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve remixed a good amount of background/historical details in this universe. you can fill in the blanks, I believe in you.
> 
> ~
> 
> because I just have to be Like That, here is my playlist for this series:
> 
> wildfire - sbtrkt, little dragon  
> beggin for thread - banks  
> warm water (snakehips remix) - banks, snakehips  
> take me apart - kelela  
> rewind - kelela  
> human - sevdaliza  
> warm water - banks  
> drunk in love (feat. jay-z) - beyoncé  
> girl (feat. kaytranada) - the internet, kaytranada  
> broken clocks - sza  
> the wheel - sohn  
> ache - fka twigs  
> reading in bed - emily haines & the soft skeleton  
> infinity - the xx  
> brain - banks  
> special affair - the internet  
> two weeks - fka twigs  
> how's that - fka twigs  
> girlfriend - nao  
> can I see it - lion babe, bilal  
> get to know ya - nao, kaytranada  
> on the sly - metric  
> bad blood - nao  
> desperado - rihanna  
> treat me like fire - lion babe  
> sound of rain - solange  
> pussy is mine - miguel  
> my favorite book - stars  
> precious possession - anna wise

This entire Presidential Ball is bullshit, probably, but Raiko and Tenzin and Lin insisted on Korra’s attendance, and she’s never one to turn down an open bar.

Asami disappears nearly the moment they enter the ballroom, swept into a conversation with press about her latest research findings, and Korra loves Asami dearly but these discussions go over her head and bore her to tears. She pantomimes getting a drink and Asami nods at her, half-distracted, waving her away. The party is full and the music loud, a hired band playing on a raised dais beneath a domed skylight, lush bouquet centerpieces and sweating bottles of champagne on every table. It takes her some time to make it to the bar, with all of the requisite hand shaking and pontificating and mild ass kissing she's expected to do. She runs into Lin, who gruff and taciturn as ever, nonetheless a striking figure in her dress pants and robe that, truthfully, don't vary much from her usual uniform. 

Thankfully, Korra managed to avoid Pema’s peer pressure, sticking to her first choice outfit: a simple navy suit with a double breasted blazer, though she did relent and accept a shimmery silver camisole to wear underneath, in lieu of a normal buttondown. If she were in the stretchy dress and heels Jinora and Ikki begged her to wear she’d want to kill herself by now. A bartender catches her eye through the mass of people and makes a beeline for her, eyes wide with reverence. 

“Avatar Korra, it's an honor! What can I get for you?”

“A gin and tonic, please.”

“Make that two,” a familiar voice booms from beside her, and Korra turns and grins, pulling Bolin in for a hug. “I can’t believe I almost missed my chance to take advantage of your Avatar bar pull.”

“Just in time.” Korra glances behind him, searching. “Mako?”

“Dance floor with Wu,” Bolin replies, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder. Korra stares.

“Sorry, I thought you just said Mako was on the dance floor. Thank you,” she tells the bartender, dropping a tip into the jar, nodding graciously at his grateful murmurings. She leads Bolin away from the bar to an unoccupied high table, leaning back against it.

Bolin raises a rueful eyebrow at her as he lifts his drink. “I mean, what can I say, the man’s in love.”

Korra snorts. “Clearly. Cheers.” They clink their glasses together and take generous sips, taking a moment to survey the party around them in companionable silence. Korra is thinking about suggesting they find the table of hors d’oeuvres when Bolin tips his head to look at her.

“Soooo, have you seen Kuvira yet?”

Korra dribbles a bit of her drink back into her glass as she chokes, face warming as she glances around, hoping that went unseen. A group of younger women quickly look away, giggling behind their hands, and she groans under her breath, ignoring it. “What? She’s _here?”_

“Diplomatic event, remember? Which means that even cocky Earth Kingdom generals are invited.”

“Invited, sure, but I didn’t think she’d actually _show up.”_ Korra resists the ridiculous urge to brush a hand through her hair, cheeks still warm. There was something about the general that always made Korra feel out of sorts and on edge, like she needed to be on high alert. Likely it had something to do with the very uneasy alliance they had made nearly a year ago, subsequent to some nasty skirmishes that had left them both scarred and bruised—but what was even more likely was Korra’s deeply inconvenient and embarrassingly protracted attraction to Kuvira. 

Bolin’s still watching her, placidly sipping his drink, and Korra rolls her eyes, looking away.

“Shut up.”

“Did I say something? I don’t remember saying anything. I was just drinking my drink.”

“Stop _looking_ at me like that.”

“General Kuvira! How are you this fine evening?” Bolin exclaims with a wide smile, eyes fixed over Korra’s shoulder. She swallows and turns, coming face to face with Kuvira, outfitted in a sleek black tuxedo, the jacket left open to reveal a fitted vest over a satin, hunter green buttondown, cinched at the neck with a black bowtie. Her hair is in its usual loose braid, though instead of being pinned up, she’s left it down and tossed over one shoulder. 

If Korra has to take another sip of her drink to wet her rapidly dried out mouth, that’s nobody’s business.

“Bolin,” Kuvira intones, inclining her head politely, before her eyes flick back to Korra. “Evening, Avatar.”

“I told you, you don’t have to call me that,” Korra replies in an even voice, somehow. She’s mastered all forms of bending, brokered a permanent peace contract between the human and spirit world, sustained nearly mortal injury more times than she could count, but she’ll be goddamned if she can figure out what to do with her _arms_ right now. “Korra is fine.”

“Okay,” Kuvira agrees easily, a corner of her mouth twitching upwards. Her gaze is intense as ever, eyes heavy lidded and dark. _“Korra.”_

“I think—what? Yeah, I—” Bolin gesticulates dramatically, cupping a hand to his ear and turning his head. “Right. I’m needed anywhere that isn’t here right now.” And then he’s off, twisting through the milling groups of partygoers without a backward glance. Korra tightens her jaw at this rather obvious ploy to leave them alone together, but subtlety has never been the man’s strong suit. 

“Can I get you another?” Kuvira asks, pointing at Korra’s nearly empty glass. “I’m due one myself.”

“Didn’t know you drank,” Korra responds, surprised. She’s trying very hard not to keep looking at that damn bowtie, somehow both incongruously formal and—soft? Inviting? Whatever the contradiction, it’s making Korra feel uncomfortably hot around the ears. 

Kuvira just keeps _looking_ at her, with that smug little expression, then flicks her eyes down to the glass in Korra’s hand. “G&T?

God, she’s so annoying, with her lips and hair and her dumb stupid beauty spot on her left cheek. Korra wants to throttle her. And by throttle…

She nods, probably keeping her gaze on Kuvira’s retreating back for a second too long as she heads to the bar. When she manages to look away, Asami is staring at her from across the room, eyes wide, mouth set in that way she does when she’s holding back an incredulous laugh.

Korra grimaces and shrugs helplessly in response, feigning irritated resignation. Asami narrows her eyes, lips curling upwards as she shakes her head in slow disappointment at the obvious lie. Korra scowls and looks away. Asami can see right through her, always could.

“Korra! I’m glad to see you made it. When did you arrive?” President Raiko booms, clapping her on the shoulder. He’s got beefy bodyguards at his side, which sets an interesting tonal contrast to the professed diplomatic intent for the night, but whatever. 

“Not too long ago,” Korra answers, glad for the distraction, even if it is Raiko. He’s got something green between his front teeth, but she won’t trouble him with that information. “Great party. Super, uh, festive.”

“Try the fondue!” He orders gaily, before moving on to extend more greetings to his guests. Hmm, fondue doesn't sound too bad. She feels like she's been standing in the same spot for a while. Maybe Kuvira thought better of this whole thing and left, which would mean Korra no longer has to be subjected to all kinds of disturbing thoughts about the buttons on that snug shirt and the thin strip of skin that’s visible above that damn bowtie. Her gaze wanders over to the bar, which has grown much more crowded since she and Bolin left it. Kuvira—still there—is leaning forward with insouciant ease, drumming her fingers against the surface of the marble bartop while speaking to a female bartender who’s look of intimidated infatuation makes something stir uneasily in Korra’s belly. She’s not quick enough, and Kuvira’s eyes unerringly land on hers after she’s given her order, and even from this far away Korra is pinned, frozen, and officially: fucked.

Kuvira breaks her gaze to look back down the bar, but not before Korra sees the small smile that touches her lips. 

When Kuvira returns, she’s balancing four drinks in her hands, two of them...shots?

Korra snorts, shooting her a suspicious look. “Seriously?”

“The, uh, bartender insisted.” Kuvira looks hesitant, which is a first. She sets the cocktails on the table, then wordlessly extends one shot glass to Korra.

This is a phenomenally bad idea, probably, but that’s never stopped her before. Korra takes it, and maybe doesn’t take care to make sure their fingers don’t brush together when she does. “Insisted, I wonder why,” she mutters, before throwing it back—it’s cold and laced with mint, surprisingly refreshing—and then revels in Kuvira’s startled look, which she quickly conceals by taking her shot as well. Korra watches the way her shirt strains against her ample chest, takes in the movement of her throat, the way her lower lip shines with liquid when she pulls the glass away, her pink tongue licking a stray drop into her mouth. She knows she’s staring, has _been_ staring, and wonders what Kuvira’s thinking as her gaze slowly wanders Korra’s face. The silence between them swells, despite the band’s loud music, the lead’s singer’s throaty crooning. 

“Well,” Kuvira says finally, picking up her drink and lifting it in Korra’s direction. Her cheekbones are angular enough to cut glass, and it makes Korra want to throw something. “I’ll leave you to enjoy your evening. Korra.” And with a final unreadable look, she’s gone.

_Air._ Korra needs air. She makes a beeline for the closest door, feigning deafness as she hears her name from a few different directions, sighing in relief when she hits the outdoor patio. It’s blessedly quieter, with only a few guests here and there, smoking and enjoying the cool night air. The wraparound enclosure overlooks a smooth expanse of thick grass, and there are more partygoers dotting the impeccably manicured lawn, some of them couples swaying gently to no music. She hears the door open behind her and then Asami is at her side, leaning backwards with her elbows against the railing, grinning into Korra’s face as the shorter woman stares pensively forward.

“Thought you two might start a fire in there, Jesus.”

“I’m...very gay,” Korra offers uselessly, by way of defense.

Asami snorts, closing her eyes and tipping her head back to shake out her hair. It’s bone straight tonight, glossy and long as it hangs down her back, and it makes Korra miss her old hair for a moment, just the tiniest bit. “Yeah, no shit.”

Korra sighs and squints heavenwards, shaking her head. Anyway. “Apparently Mako was cutting a rug on the dance floor? I can only hope someone got it on camera.” As Asami releases a merry peal of laughter, Korra suddenly pales, wondering if there had been any cameras pointing her and Kuvira’s way— _that_ would certainly make for some juicy speculative gossip…

“Listen, Mako looked like Pabu when he’s eaten something spicy.” Asami does a jerky imitation, her face pulled tight in faux concentration, before crumbling into giggles, Korra joining in. “And poor Wu, meanwhile, has no issues staying on beat. Actually,” she frowns thoughtfully, “He’s, like, a really good dancer.”

“God, they’re so adorable it’s gross.”

“Who would have thought, right?” Asami muses, exchanging a rueful look with Korra before chuckling, turning around to mimic her position against the railing. Somewhere on the lawn comes a shout of laughter, the tinkling of champagne glasses as they ring together. A gentle breeze glides past as they watch the distant lights of Republic City winking from across the river, solid and bright beneath the pale, heavy moon. 

//

Korra doesn’t see Kuvira at the party again, which she refuses to feel any type of way about, despite Asami and Bolin’s sly comments and knowing glances. Kuvira doesn’t strike her as the type to stay out very late or party hard, and it’s not like Korra’s that wild herself, though she can make some exceptions. And tonight—flanked by her best friends in one of their favorite off-the-beaten-path Republic City bars as a nightcap, feeling restless and a little off-kilter as she tips a third—fourth?—shot into her mouth—tonight seems as good a night as any to let loose.

The universe is definitely laughing at her, though, because when Korra lowers her glass, only half-listening to the story Wu is telling the group about badgermoles, her attention is caught by a familiar silhouette seated at a crowded table a few feet away. It feels a little bit like she’s skipped a step going down the stairs when Kuvira turns her head at the exact same time, her eyes opening wide as she spots Korra. She’s with a somewhat rowdy group—a bunch of UER people Korra’s only seen in passing, no doubt her entourage from the ball—and she’s sprawled across her corner of the booth with the same smug ease that never fails to get Korra going, cycling between arousal and annoyance. Only now, at this late hour and tucked into this small, dark bar, she looks distinctly... _looser._ Korra smirks when the other woman raises her glass, quirking an amused eyebrow, and does the same. She’s just taking a drink when another woman with painted deep indigo lips and a slinky dress slides into the booth beside Kuvira, settling in close, very close, dropping a hand onto Kuvira’s lap and leaning in to whisper something into her ear. Korra swallows heavily, focusing her attention back on Wu. Can she be surprised, honestly?

“And then they dragged away his lifeless body,” he’s saying with a grand shrug. “Took it right back into their cave and he was never seen again.”

“Whoa, _what—”_ Korra begins, blinking, disturbed, and Mako groans.

“Please, don’t ask follow up questions, he’ll just tell the whole thing again.”

“Mako hates this story,” Wu beams, patting his cheek. “He has a weak constitution.”

“Babe, it’s horrific.”

“I thought badgermoles were, like, friendly?” Asami wonders, then glances over at Bolin questioningly. “So you like this song, huh?”

Bolin continues his seat shimmy, eyes closed and sipping his umbrella drink in bliss, utterly uninterested in the conversation. “Um, how do you _not_ like this song? Tasteless.” Bolin is a fun drunk. 

“I mean, I loved it when I was fourteen?” Asami laughs at Bolin’s glare, then relents and bops along with him when he slings an arm over her shoulder, teeth gleaming in the low-lit room and he sings out loud.

_Call me a—call me a bender, baby_

_Bay-BAY!_

_Cuz I’m bent out of shape for youuuu_

Korra snorts, considers joining in, but isn’t really feeling it. Asami may be an engineering prodigy, but she is incapable of singing on key; it’s both atrocious and adorable. 

Then Korra flinches, taken aback, when a tiny ball of fried dough left over from their earlier appretizer connects solidly with her nose: Mako is grinning at her from across the table, another golden brown puff clenched in his fingers, poised to launch.

“Where you at?”

“Here, being assaulted, apparently.” Korra straightens in her seat, bracing her hands on the table expectantly. “Okay, hit me.” Mako lets loose and the puff arcs perfectly into Korra’s mouth, which she crunches triumphantly as he punches the air.

“Challenge round,” Wu buts in, covering Mako’s eyes. “Go.”

Korra’s doubtful, which turns out to be correct: she and Wu watch the next puff sail through the air to land squarely in Korra’s drink, which splashes a bit onto Asami’s cheek.

“Ew, what the fuck,” she complains, as the others burst into the kind of laughter that drags on and on, feels nearly impossible to stop. Korra’s just starting to come down, giggles slowly receding, as Kuvira passes their table with Allergic To Personal Space woman, pointedly not sparing Korra a glance. It’s so blatant—they’d clearly made eye contact earlier, so Kuvira knew she was there—and also playful? In a way that makes Korra bite her lip against a smile, pulse quickening. There is something happening here, finally; that much is clear. She isn’t imagining it.

Well, then. As Varrick once told her, closed mouths don’t get fed. 

“Korra?” Asami questions as she slips sideways out of the booth and rises to stand. She’s watching Korra with calculating eyes, eyebrow raised in challenge. “All good?”

“Mm-hmm. I’ll be back,” she says vaguely, before setting off in the direction of the dance floor. She’s glad she’d shed her jacket much earlier; the bar has grown much more crowded with warm, gyrating bodies, laughing and drinking, shouting to be heard over the music in the semi-darkness. It took standing and moving for Korra to realize how tipsy she was, and this is one of her favorite songs, so she gives into the urge to swivel her hips a bit, rolling her shoulders. She’s blessedly unrecognizable here, or maybe this crowd just doesn’t care that the Avatar is there dancing by herself in the middle of the dance floor, mouthing along to the song. And then the crowd shifts slightly to reveal Kuvira, whose bowtie is now pulled free of its knot and hanging loosely around her neck, the first few buttons of her blouse undone, revealing creamy skin that glows beneath the low flashing lights. She’s also abandoned her blazer, and her vest hangs open, shirt sleeves rolled up to her elbows. And she’s—Korra almost does a double take—actually dancing, not outlandishly, but she’s definitely moving on beat, the lines of her normally stiff body loose and open, with an understated _sinuousness_ that stirs a fire low in Korra’s belly. When she sees Korra, her shoulders shake and teeth flash as she laughs briefly, then leans into her companion to say something into her ear. Korra watches, half-suspicious, half-fascinated as the woman looks back at her in slight shock, then pouts, shrugging grandly. What the hell is going _on._

She feels even more off-balance when Kuvira makes her way over, not stopping until she’s almost pressed up against Korra, leaning in to speak directly into her ear.

“You stalking me, Avatar?”

Korra’s eyes flutter shut at the lightning bolt of lust ignited by the warm blast of air on her skin. “I was going to ask the same of you,” she returns, not moving away, but not moving closer either, braced. “How do you even know about this place?”

“A friend has been showing me around,” Kuvira replies, a smile in her voice. She smells, god help her, fucking _divine:_ a heady blend of some kind of tangy spice mixed with sweat and alcohol that makes Korra have to take a deep breath, feeling slightly feral. 

“A friend, huh.” Korra is utterly unprepared for the arm around her waist, holding her close, the gentle chuckle in her ear. Does Kuvira practice that voice at home in the mirror? It’s pornographic. She returns the embrace, every place that's touching Kuvira alive and tingling with want.

The song changes, and it's a popular one, rousing a cheer. The dance floor is suddenly more crowded, and the resulting crush of bodies pushes them even closer together so they can be heard through the din. “You don’t hide your jealousy as well as you think you do,” Kuvira teases, so close that her lips brush against Korra's ear, which makes her bite her lip, hard, extremely grateful that Kuvira can't see her face right now. She doesn’t want to think about what it must look like, given the current state of her underwear.

“Oh? Please, teach me more about subtlety, Great Uniter,” she returns sarcastically, angling her head for the lightest touch of her lips against Kuvira’s jaw, glancing enough to pass off as an accident. The skin along the back of her neck tingles at Kuvira’s tiny hitch of breath, which Korra feels more than she hears, and her grip around Korra’s waist tightens, fingers scratching gently against Korra's side.

“I have a better idea.” Kuvira pulls away, giving Korra a heated look and taking a step backward, before turning slowly to continue making her way into the crowd, tossing another glance over her shoulder at Korra. The intent is clear: Korra is to follow.

Which she does, without hesitation—enough is enough.

The restroom is small, which is fine, and it has a functional lock, which is better. A lamp sways gently overhead, glowing a soft blue as Korra crowds Kuvira slowly against the wall, biting back a laugh at the other woman’s shit-eating smirk. Bracing her hands against the wall just above Kuvira’s shoulders, she leans in close, closer than they were just outside. Her cheek is smooth, so warm against Korra’s lips when she speaks low. “Okay. Why don’t you tell me about your idea?” 

“I believe we’re on the same page.” Kuvira says smoothly, hands moving to Korra’s waist and slipping beneath her shirt so fast her head spins, clit jumping at the soft press of fingertips, the dull bite of short nails against her skin. She hums appreciatively at Korra’s half-moan that hiccups into a laugh. “Mm, what was what? Make that sound again.”

God. Dear God. Korra can’t help herself, can’t help but bat her face gently against Kuvira’s jaw, her neck, trying not to make it too obvious that she’s a little obsessed with the way she smells. She glides her nose across the smooth skin of her jaw, from her sharp, angular chin to the soft place beneath her ear, tilting her head to bite the lobe. Kuvira shudders, huffing in surprise, dragging her nails down the goosebumped skin of Korra’s back and pressing their hips together. Korra has to work for a second to force her words out, and they sound as strained as she feels.

“Uh. The ‘make me’ is implied, right?”

“It is.” Kuvira’s hands don’t stop moving, they travel up and down Korra’s back as their bodies press so tightly together the air becomes stifling—and then around to Korra’s stomach, which, unfortunately, inspires self-conscious giggles. Kuvira raises her eyebrows and bites her lip, taking in Korra’s brilliant blush, the unexpected display of vulnerability. 

“So the Avatar is ticklish,” Kuvira muses, eyes dancing. For a second Korra’s stomach tenses, awaiting further torture, but Kuvira just spreads her palms flat against the firm skin as she leans in, bites at Korra’s neck, licks it with a low, rasping chuckle. “That's adorable. You’re adorable.”

The worst part is, Korra can’t be sure whether that’s sarcastic or sincere, or like, mocking or hyperbolic—and it doesn’t matter, because just hearing the words leave Kuvira’s lips as they graze her skin is all she has the bandwidth for at this point. She’s enjoying the game; she _always_ enjoys this game, but she and Kuvira have been playing it about a year longer than is strictly necessary, in her opinion. Their occasionally differing political opinions and past physical altercations aside, what could never be questioned was the magnetic pull between them, though that’s been easy enough to handle when they are so rarely in the same place at the same time for extended periods. And if they were, then they were constantly surrounded by advisors, security, or just the relentless tension _(not_ the good kind) of the latest crisis to hash out. 

But tonight’s proximity is too much, clearly testing their resolve, racing them toward this breaking point. Korra has fantasized about this moment for a very, very long time, maybe even guiltily entertained the thought once or twice during her ill-fated dalliance with Asami, and if Kuvira’s small gasps for breath as Korra rolls her hips forward are any indication, she’s not alone in her long-suppressed desperation. She tenses when Korra fists her hands into the top of her shirt and rips it open, sending the buttons everywhere, pinging off the sink, the door, the top of the toilet, pulling an incredulous shout from Kuvira’s lips.

“Korra! Wh— _hmnmm.”_ Korra can _feel_ it when Kuvira’s blush extends to her chest because she can’t stop dragging her mouth along her collarbone, moving sideways and opening wide to press her teeth against the top of her shoulder. The shirt and vest are still in the way, and Korra shoves them open further, revealing more gorgeous tan skin, alternating kisses and bites across her shoulders, coming back in to nose at her neck. Kuvira’s voice is tight when she speaks, eventually. “You’re replacing that shirt.”

“You’re richer than God,” Korra scoffs, coming up to take in Kuvira’s parted lips, hugely dilated pupils, pink flush rising in her cheeks. It’s a really, really good look. Her gaze drops to Kuvira’s heaving chest, her heavy, pointed breasts still only partially concealed by the green satin blouse hanging open. Her nipples are full and dark, and Korra swallows against a sudden rush of saliva, the aching roll of heat between her thighs.

“It’s—” Kuvira finally loses it, just a little bit, when Korra dips her head to mouth at one of the soft swells of flesh, closing her lips around an erect nipple, scraping it lightly with her teeth. Korra fights the urge to grin at the shaky, breathless little moan that comes as a result, the way one of Kuvira’s hands clenches hard at her hip. “The principle,” Kuvira finally finishes, then her hands are tightening in the hem of Korra’s camisole and slipping it up and over her head, deftly tossing it to swing from the hook on the opposite wall. Her eyes are heavy-lidded as she stares at Korra's naked chest, as she reaches out to thumb at Korra’s lower lip, drag the roughened pad of it around the seam of Korra’s lips in a slow circle. Korra can’t help her tremulous moan when the press becomes more insistent, pushing inside, and she swallows desperately around the elegant digit, feeling dizzy with lust. Kuvira’s hair is messier than she’s ever seen it, the braid nearly unraveled and chin length strands escaping to hang in her eyes—as she pushes her thumb gently across Korra’s tongue in a slow caress, in and out, making Korra’s hands flex and tighten against the wall. 

_“Shit,”_ Korra whispers, panting, as Kuvira’s thumb slips out and skips straight down to one of Korra’s breasts, flicking the wet tip over the nipple, again, and then again, before switching to the other. Korra _has_ to touch: she brings a hand down to Kuvira’s waist, digging into the waistband of her trousers, while the other hand clasps her jaw, tilting her head this way and that with a challenging gaze. “Kuvira. I want to kiss you now,” she grits out, feeling a little wild, her pulse jumping. “Thoughts?”

In response, Kuvira surges forward to seal their mouths together and then it’s— _fuck_ , it’s burning hot, jaws stretching open wide to curl their tongues together, the long-coveted kiss slow and deep and _filthy_ from the very start. Korra isn’t worried about the sounds she’s making anymore: the heady electricity sparking between them is shorting out every final inhibition, especially when she hears more of Kuvira’s bitten off moans, her shallow gasps of air, sounds she commits to ecstatic memory. Korra feels a little more drunk with every passing second, with the soft, wet sounds of their lips coming together, coming apart, faster and sloppier as their hands grapple at each other’s clothing, the enclosures on their suit pants. Kuvira is faster though, and Korra hisses, gripping back of Kuvira’s neck when she plunges an eager hand into Korra’s underwear, fingers sliding through the soft curls, wet and slick with her excitement. Kuvira makes a small approving noise, closing her teeth on Korra’s lower lip as two fingers make agonizingly small circles around her clit, sweeping back to glide against her folds. Korra tries to deepen the kiss again but Kuvira just huffs a tiny laugh against her mouth, only allowing the slightest press of lips, open-mouthed but tongueless as they just pant together. Her fingers are dexterous and bold, goddamn _heavenly_ as they dip into her folds, scissor around the erect nub of her clit, stroking, then sweeping back to press lightly against Korra’s opening, which pulses and clenches with want. 

“So _wet_ for me, Avatar.” Her voice is low, teasing as she breathes against Korra’s lips, and Korra doesn’t understand how she isn’t passing out from the sudden rush of blood downward, feeling herself expel another small gush against Kuvira’s hand. She knows Kuvira feels it, thrilling at her small, whispered _“Fuck!”_ as her fingertips begin to breach her hole, slowly enough to drive Korra out of her mind.

“Please, just—” Korra whines, rubbing their cheeks together, turning to moan brokenly into Kuvira’s ear as her pants and underwear are shoved a bit further open and down past her ass, just enough to allow Kuvira’s fingers to slip inside, _finally,_ palm flush against her mons. _“Yeah,_ like th—” Korra presses her hips down further into Kuvira’s hand, so damn close already she can barely breathe. Those long, talented fingers are curved just so and just rocking back and forth, restricted by their standing position yet nonetheless creating these obscenely wet noises that seem somehow deafening, even with the steady thump of the bar’s bass pounding at their feet. Korra’s thighs are clenched before she knows it, belly quivering as she feels the heat begin to lick up her spine, race from the place deep inside where Kuvira flexes her fingers and outwards to her swollen clit. Kuvira bends to suck one of Korra’s nipples into her mouth, grinding so tight and perfect against her with her palm, and Korra is done for, toes curling in her shoes as she cries out, the waves of release building huge and violent before they crash over her, feeling herself positively _drip_ as she clenches over and over around Kuvira’s fingers. She rides out her quivering, shaking pleasure just a little bit longer, not even aware she’s buried her face into Kuvira’s neck until she finally breathes in and gets so much more of that gorgeous scent, now headier, sharper. 

Kuvira tsks as she slowly withdraws her fingers, keeps her eyes firmly on Korra as she brings them up to her lips, rubbing the slick into the teeth-bitten skin until Korra opens her mouth, sucking them inside, tasting herself. “You—” Kuvira swallows, expelling a shuddery breath, licking her lips, watching open-mouthed as Korra wraps her tongue around them, sucks them, licks them clean. “Beautiful, how do you taste? Actually—” Kuvira withdraws her fingers and dives in for another scorching kiss, fingers damp against Korra’s jaw as she angles her head, deepening it, intent on discovering Korra’s flavor for herself. 

Until Korra pulls away to readjust her underwear and pants around her hips, then swipes a hand towel from a small shelf to drop onto the floor, coming to rest on her knees in front of Kuvira. A hand clenches in her hair immediately and _hard_ and Korra sways a little, overwhelmed, ravenous, yanking Kuvira’s own trousers and boxer shorts down, revealing a neat V of slick dark hairs leading down to puffy, glistening folds. Korra shoves the pants down to Kuvira’s ankles and crowds in closer, forcing Kuvira further back, legs opening wider to accommodate her between the strong, muscled thighs. Once Korra’s got a good grip on the rise of soft flesh of Kuvira’s thigh, the other hand clenched in the bottom of her shirt, pressing it up and out of the way against her hip, she doesn’t waste any time: licking a slow stripe up against her clit with the broad flat of her tongue, and then again when Kuvira emits a breathy whine, and then another time, to hear it come louder. Kuvira’s taste is as maddeningly dark and spicy and intoxicating as her smell, and Korra is honestly a bit concerned with how _animalistic_ she feels about the woman before her but can’t spend too much time worried about that with this feast spread out so deliciously for her. She experiments with short stabs and long, languid licks, spreading Kuvira’s folds and holding them open to draw more of those delicious gasps from her throat, humming appreciatively at how wet her nose and mouth and chin are getting. Kuvira’s gorgeous cunt is leaking and messy, the pitch of her short, bitten off sounds ratcheting higher and higher the faster Korra’s licks get, until she’s tightening her grip against Korra’s scalp and scrabbling at her shoulders, head thumping back against the wall as her hips struggle not to punch forward. 

“I—ah, _ffffff-uck,”_ she whimpers quietly, grinding herself slowly against Korra’s mouth when Korra sucks decisively on her her clit, and then she freezes, knuckles white and mouth falling open, releasing a strangled groan as she comes, more slick fluid pooling against Korra’s tongue, spreading around her lips.

While Kuvira comes down, breathing hard, Korra unthinkingly presses her face into her warm mound, loving the riotous heat still pulsing at the other woman’s core, the gentle scratch of pubic hair against her cheek. She knows she’s probably crossing a line, finally giving into a primal, long-held urge that makes her marvel again at how unspeakably _hungry_ Kuvira makes her feel, but Kuvira’s quiet, shocked moan, the trembling way she slides her fingers through Korra’s hair, then across her forehead and down the bridge of her nose says maybe she doesn’t mind it all that much. Korra huffs gratefully, reaching around to grab two handfuls of Kuvira’s generous ass, kneading and squeezing as she presses kisses up the smooth divot between the top of her thigh and the rise of her pubis. “You’re so fucking gorgeous,” Korra complains, finally tilting her gaze up to meet Kuvira’s, who’s watching her with wide eyes, her lower lip caught between her teeth. She’s gonna lick that birthmark one day. It's gonna happen. “It’s just, like, really a problem for me.”

Kuvira laughs, a little breathless as she hauls Korra back up to standing, sliding her palms up her stomach to her chest, groping boldly at her breasts, squeezing them, pinching her nipples lightly, then harder. She swallows Korra’s answering moan in a bruising kiss and Korra’s rational brain is about to switch quickly back offline when there comes a pounding at the washroom door, startling them both.

“ _What_ is going on in there? There’s a line going all the way back to the bar!” an aggrieved female voice yells, pounding on the door again. _“No_ intercourse in the bathroom, please! Read the sign!”

There sure is a sign, in bold letters, above the sink: PLEASE DO NOT USE THIS SPACE FOR SEXUAL RELATIONS. “Oh, my god, oh shit,” Korra gasps with laughter as they spring apart to shove their clothes back on. “How long have we been—”

“Way too long, apparently.” Kuvira darts sideways to peer into the small, graffiti-laden mirror, bouncing a bit as she pulls her snug trousers back up her hips and closes them, and then she shoots a fierce, pointed glare at Korra, gesturing to her open shirt, entirely devoid of buttons. “As if this weren’t going to be newsworthy enough, my shirt is destroyed and I can’t close it. _Korra_.” 

Korra grimaces in apology, though that ends up melting into snorting laughter too. God, Kuvira’s breasts are incredible. No, focus. “Ummm, yeah, sorry about that.”

Kuvira shakes her head once, lips twitching as she quickly scans the tiny room, her eyes alighting on an exposed pipe in the corner of the floor. Extending a hand and curling it, she rapidly bends away a micro-thin layer of soft grey metal, sharpening it to a needle’s point, and performing an astounding bit of...sew-bending? Korra’s never seen anything like it, watching with awe as the sliver compresses itself fine enough to weave in and out of where the buttonholes had been, held together by Kuvira. It’s such a simple, yet astounding feat of precision that Korra feels a little hot all over again, and then jumps when the pounding returns, hard enough to rattle the door in its hinges.

“Don’t make me break down this door!”

“Yes, so sorry, we’re—we had a—” Korra yells back, glancing back to Kuvira, giving her a once over and nodding, then gesturing to herself with a questioning eyebrow. Kuvira steps close to adjust Korra’s camisole over her shoulder, and the way their eyes catch in the next moment makes Korra’s chest flutter, her stomach swoop dangerously. And then she forces her gaze away, reaching for the doorknob, because this lady might be a bender and that’s just not how Korra wants to end this night. Flinging open the door, she comes face to face with—empty air, and then she looks down to find an older woman who can’t be more than four, _maybe_ four and a half feet tall, dressed head to toe in black leather, her lined face pinched and thunderous.

“Listen, I refuse to tolerate this kind of be…hav...”

“Many apologies, it won’t happen again,” Korra says quickly, a bit panicked at the shocked gleam of recognition in the woman’s eyes, the way her mouth forms a small O as her gaze darts between her and Kuvira, who she can feel sneaking out beside her, trying very hard to make herself physically invisible. “We’ll, just, ah.” She is able to edge past in the ensuing silence, Kuvira close behind, though the line is, indeed, very long, and every inhabitant is watching them beat a hasty retreat with varying levels of annoyance, shock, and judgement.

“—that the _Avatar?”_

“—sworn that was her. And—”

“With _who?_ Kuvira, like _Kuvira?”_

When they finally make it past the nosy crowd, released back into relative anonymity just off the dance floor, Korra remembers something. She turns to Kuvira at the same time Kuvira faces her, their words overlapping.

“Wait, so who was that woman you were—”

“So is there still something between you and Asam—”

Korra’s heart jackhammers oddly as they both fall silent, chuckling self-consciously. Korra shakes her head, eyebrows raised in surprise, cautious optimism. “No, that’s—that’s over. Good terms, obviously, but—it’s for the best that we’re just friends.”

Kuvira nods slowly, digesting this. “Okay. That’s…” Good? Is that what she’s not saying? Korra pivots her head slightly sideways, amused at her reticence, but Kuvira continues before she can tease her about it. “Oh, the woman I was with, I’d just met her tonight. I, uh,” Kuvira smirks, cheeks flushing a little pink. “I made it pretty clear that there was no future for us, after I saw you. Dancing.”

“Did you,” Korra murmurs, grinning, and Kuvira chuckles softly, dropping her gaze to the ground and shaking her head. Korra opens her mouth to ask exactly what she said to make that clear, but then a hand is closing on her shoulder, shaking insistently. 

“Korra, oh my god! We thought someone kidnapped you!” Asami exclaims, eyes wide with irritation when Korra turns, and then her gaze slides sideways to Kuvira and she freezes, looking back at Korra. “Uhhhh, hi! Kuvira.”

“Hello, Asami.” Her formal greeting is such a hilariously discordant contrast to the way she’d shoved Korra’s face against her crotch not ten minutes before, writhing and wanton, that Korra just has to laugh. To make it worse, there aren’t many times that Korra feels this aware of Asami’s status as her ex, thanks to their friendship’s long-tested ability to withstand almost anything, but—this is one of those times. And unfortunately, Korra has this bad habit of, again, laughing when she feels uncomfortable. 

Though she supposes the alcohol and recent exhilarating burst of serotonin might be to blame as well.

“Sorry,” she says automatically when they both turn to look questioningly at her. “Ha! Okay, sorry. Um.” Korra bites both lips into her mouth as another giggle erupts from her chest, forcibly clamping the rest down. “Yeah, I’m here. Why were you worried? I’m...literally the Avatar.” Kuvira and Asami groan in unison, then exchange half-wary, half-amused looks.

“Whatever. Mako and I figured you were fine, Wu was the one losing it. I thought maybe you’d—uh, well!” Asami smirks, gaze boring into Korra’s with playful intent before tilting her head questioningly back toward where the group is sitting.. “I’ll let everyone know you’re fine. See you, ah…?”

Korra opens her mouth, closes it, flushing deep red as she glances back at Kuvira. Good question. “Uh?”

“Right, that’s! Um, none of my—I’ll just see you around,” Asami says hastily, shooting Korra a brief grimace of apology and Kuvira a quick wave goodbye before whirling away. In the ensuing silence, Korra wonders if this could possibly get any more awkward, and suddenly it feels a lot less funny. 

“So I actually—” Kuvira begins, uncertain, drawing Korra’s gaze, her brow pinched with...remorse? “I have to head to Zaofu very early tomorrow morning, but—”

“No, yeah, it’s, that’s fine!” Korra shoots her a breezy smile, hating the way her chest feels right now, like it’s trying to fold itself together into something sharp and compact. “I didn’t—”

Kuvira rolls her eyes a bit, exhales for a moment, then glances around, shrugging with an air of surrender. “Whatever,” she mutters, and Korra barely has time to question her before Kuvira is crooking her finger into the top of Korra’s trousers to tug her in for a brief, tender kiss that momentarily snatches the air from her lungs. Someone wolf-whistles, which they both ignore. 

“I’ll call you,” Kuvira says quietly when their lips part, mouth curved upward, the mouth that Korra has tasted many times tonight, and will taste again. Oh, _hell,_ how is she supposed to wait until then? Korra nods, reaching up to tug lightly on Kuvira’s wavy dark hair, now loose from its earlier braid, as Kuvira continues to speak, eyes darting over Korra’s face. “Or, you can come to Zaofu? I’ll be there for four days.” They’re attracting more attention again; people not-so-subtly watching them pressed close, whispering, and she can just hear Lin and Tenzin’s PR clucking now. Oh well. Who cares, truly? Korra sure doesn’t. 

“I can come in two. Wait for me.”

“I’ll clear my schedule,” Kuvira jokes— _jokes!_ —and Korra gets all hot all over again, imagining Kuvira slipping into their shared hotel room between political obligations, just so they can get their hands and mouths all over each other before she has button up her uniform to go out and face the public again, with the evidence of Korra’s teeth and lips hidden beneath her layers. Fuck, Korra’s become so used to people bending over backwards to accommodate _her_ schedule, to organizing their time and energy around _her_ , that the notion of reversing this for Kuvira, her former on-again, off-again nemesis makes her press another heated kiss against her lips. Kuvira hums and shoots her one last small smile before she pulls gently away, slipping out through a side exit door, and Korra ignores all of the looks and whispered commentary as she winds her way back to her table. She groans under her breath as she approaches, as they’re already—literally—pointing and laughing at her, like the kind and understanding friends they are.

“You look,” Wu declares decisively, before anyone else can speak, “Like you had a _wonderful_ time. New toilet paper? Have they upgraded the soap?”

Korra nods slowly, accepting, as she slides back into her seat, unable to stop the grin that spreads across her face. “Fine, you know what? Lay it on me.”

“I think someone already did,” Asami mumbles, glancing between Mako and Bolin, who release two identical snorts of laughter.

Korra just rolls her eyes as they continue, and then they all make a big show out of settling bets that were apparently placed a while ago on how long it would take for her to hook up with Kuvira—with Asami coming out the clear winner, her guess being only two weeks off. They don’t stay much longer after that, especially once some of the bolder, drunker witnesses from earlier start thinking themselves entitled to answers from Korra about her private life. Before she can even respond, her friends disabuse them of that notion very quickly, so maybe she’ll keep them around after all. Soon they’re settling the bill and starting on the looping walk home, Korra balanced on Bolin’s back as he zigzags down the quiet, mostly empty street.

“I swear, if you guys fall over, I am not taking you to the emergency clinic,” Asami warns, yawning, her jeweled purse swinging idly from her fingers. “I want some to-go noodles and then I want my bed.” She glances over at Mako and Wu, who are actually managing to exchange small, brief kisses while they walk. “And you’ll find little help from these two bozos, I think.”

"Hey!"

"That's _Prince_ Bozo to you, Miss Sato."

“Fear not, I just recognize that look, when _someone_ feels like they’re _walking on aaaair,”_ Bolin half-sings, gracefully pirouetting in a circle, making Korra clutch at him harder and laugh, despite her embarrassed blush at his words. “So I decided to make it happen. Friendship!”

_“Please_ shut up,” Korra groans, bouncing along as he continues his jostling dance. “You are somehow more corny than Tenzin and Iroh the First put together.”

“I mean, I accept that with honor.”

The rest of the walk home is short, and after saying her goodbyes, Korra is grateful to peel off her clothes and crawl clumsily into bed, gazing out of her bedroom window into the inky, moonless night. Her mind burns with the memory of dark eyes and a soft, smirking mouth, stuck on the surprising inevitability of this confusing, meandering path that has brought her to this very moment. Tomorrow, she will get up and deal with her hangover, and then the immediate Page 6 fallout of her and Kuvira’s lack of discretion, and then likely have to confer with Raiko about making some kind of bullshit public statement about a request for privacy, and then a tongue-in-cheek joke about intra-regional harmony and diplomacy, all in an attempt to placate all of the scandalized elders who sit in the various city councils. And then, she will make a concrete plan for her trip to Zaofu. Wait for Kuvira’s call, or maybe she'll just call her first, fuck it.

For tonight, though, her heated face pressed in a silent, ecstatic scream into her pillow, she’ll just try to recall the smell of Kuvira’s skin, the sounds she made only for Korra to hear _(beautiful,_ she'd called her), until she eventually drifts off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> kuvira be like "pardon my bluntness, but I have to go fuck the avatar in the restroom right now, enjoy the rest of your evening"


End file.
